Veterans Affairs
by Cazio
Summary: At the urging of Bruce, Tony moves in with Steve to try and figure out why SHIELD is threatening to permanently remove him from the Avengers. Both men have to come to terms with their problems and prove that they can keep it all together. (Iron Man 3 spoilers)
1. Chapter 1

_ Note: Before you start this fic, there are a few things you should know. I have never written a stony fic before and though I do ship it, I have a hard time with it. Well, I basically have a hard time with the transition from flirtatious banter into an actual relationship. Thus, this fic will probably touch on things that could piss people off. One of those things being that I don't see Steve Rogers being someone who agrees with homosexuality. So be warned of complications concerning that. And don't assume that what I write is what I think._

_Regardless, this is a stony fic that will (um, hopefully) have a happy ending. ^^ Thank you for reading!_

* * *

Tony looked out the window of his temporary penthouse in Miami, trying to pick out what were clouds and what were the frothy edges of the ocean. His mouth was still running—he had the uncanny (sometimes annoying) ability to talk while he mind was other places. It had bitten him in the ass more times than he could count, but this was Bruce, so he didn't really care. After all, it wasn't like the other man was even listening, but Tony wasn't listening either, so he just let himself go. Life was good, life was great. He'd injected himself with a virus that had made people into fleshy meat bombs and things were going great. No more shrapnel in his heart, no more arc reactor. Just a big scar that even Extremis couldn't heal.

Yup, everything was fantastic. That morning he'd just found out that due to scheduling, he wasn't going to see Pepper for a good two months while she worked on hiding away Extremis forever and underwent treatment to stop the fact that she could burn a hole through a sheet of steel when she was angry. Little things.

"Tony," Bruce said, but Tony didn't listen and kept talking. "Tony, hey. Hello, I'm talking now."

He finally realized that when Bruce said he was talking that meant he should be shutting up. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were just sleeptalking on me."

Bruce frowned. "I'm sorry about that. Look, I'm not a therapist, but I think you're right. You need to face New York again."

Thankfully, New York had been becoming less of a cue for a momentary heart attack. "What, was I talking about New York?"

"Yeah, you were." Bruce put his glasses back on and sat up straight again. "I think you need to go back there, but not to the Tower, not just yet."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're smarter than you look?" He didn't want to talk about New York right now. Actually, never talking about it sounded like a great idea.

"Tony, please be respectful about this. Please?"

"Like you were so respectful to me?"

Bruce passed a hand over his face, letting out a tired sigh. "I said I was sorry already."

"Not forgiven," Tony said, closing his eyes and tipping his head up as he reclined in the chair. "I appreciate the help, Jolly Green, but I'm not going back to New York to go on some mission for personal healing."

"Then what about healing someone else?" Bruce asked.

Tony opened one eye. "Sorry, can't. Don't do well with people."

"What if it's a friend?"

He frowned. "Look, I'd love to help you get rid of Hulk Syndrome if that's what you want, but I don't think Extremis is the ticket. I'm pretty sure that would turn you into something a lot worse than a giant green alien guy."

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. "No, that's not what I meant. It's Steve."

Now that was interesting. "I heard something about that. His dead friend came back to say hello, right? Except—like things that are supposed to be dead—he came back with a vengeance?"

The other man nodded grimly. "He's in really bad shape, Tony."

"He'll get over it. Can we get back to talking about me now? About how I singlehandedly fought off a demon disease?"

"SHIELD is considering talking him off the Initiative."

"What? I want to be off—"

"Permanently." Bruce swallowed, taking off his glasses again and twirling them around his fingers. "I've tried talking to him, but I can't get through. Natasha couldn't get anything either."

Tony sat up. "Is he like, psycho now?"

"Uh…not exactly. I think he needs someone like you. You'll force him to do new things and get angry at him and make him do something besides what he's doing now."

He didn't do therapy. He certainly didn't administer it. But Tony had to admit that one of his favorite hobbies was making Steve Rogers uncomfortable. And yeah, he still had some stupid childhood admiration thing going on. "So, if I do this, what would you have me do?"

A look of relief crossed Bruce's face. "I can't really explain what's going on with him. I don't really know—he won't let anyone do any sort of testing or diagnosis or anything. Basically, think of him as a puppy."

"Now we're making pet analogies for Captain America?"

Brue continued without skipping a beat. "He needs socialized—gradually introduced to everything. He needs to be in as many social situations as possible and he needs to relearn everything from cocktail parties to ordering food at McDonald's."

Tony shot his friend a puzzled look. "You're losing me. Did Steve get amnesia or something?"

"No, no. It's just complicated. You have to, uh, experience it. Basically, being alone is killing him. "

"So you want me to be his roommate."

"Essentially, yes. Until he mellows out or…you know, finds a girlfriend or something."

Tony groaned, slumping back into the chair. "You want me to set him up, don't you?"

"No! I mean, if you could, I think that would be best."

Great, now he was not only supposed to babysit the Human Popsicle, but he was supposed to set him up too? Tony couldn't really imagine Steve talking to a woman, let alone touching her. Natasha didn't count—Steve could work with women, but he sure as hell couldn't date one. But it was a project, and Tony liked projects. Besides, Pepper told him he needed to take a vacation anyway, though going back to New York didn't sound like much of a vacation.

Bruce sighed. "You don't have to do it, I just figured I would ask. I mean, you're probably the closest person to—"

"JARVIS, pack my bags, we're going on an adventure."

* * *

The house was exactly what Steve Roger's house would be. Old brick crumbled at each corner, with white speckles of quartz or maybe that was paint that flecked the sandy salmon color. Behind Tony's tinted red glasses, it looked a little too warm. Ivy was growing on one corner that contrasted nicely to the peeling white paint on the windowsills. He rang the doorbell again and Mark 57 shifted behind him with an electronic murmur. Tony knew New York real estate and though the house looked small, it wasn't touching the houses beside it and it wasn't a condo. That meant SHIELD had forked over a lot of cash for it. Cash that Steve probably deserved for saving the world a few times over.

"Hey, Private Ryan, open up," Tony called when he heard footsteps from inside. "Don't make me blow the door open."

The footsteps came closer and the old wooden door came open with a little thud, revealing Steve Rogers standing in the foyer with a smile on his face. "Sorry, I was busy upstairs."

Tony quirked a brow. He'd been expecting Steve to look ragged or shell-shocked or something. Instead, he just looked normal. Same blonde hair, same blue eyes, same charismatic, everything-is-okay smile. So Tony gave a smile in return and clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Just so you know, I'm moving in."

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, Bruce called me yesterday. "

As he looked around the house, it was clear that Steve was slowly adapting. There was still a radio on the counter scratching out some terrible jig music, but the appliances were all stainless steel. The floors were all wood except for the bathroom and the kitchen and the entire house was spotless. Steve showed him around and didn't skip any closets or deter him from snooping around the master bedroom. To Tony, nothing seemed wrong. Everything was clean, organized, and there were no skeletons in the closet. Steve wasn't even afraid to show him the Avengers scrapbook he'd made in his free time, full of blurry Polaroids and newspaper clippings. Tony slammed the book shut at a picture of the wormhole, but didn't miss a beat when Steve asked him if anything was wrong.

"I don't have the reactor anymore—I'm still getting used to having a real heart again."

"Oh, I read something about that. And I see you created a few new suits to help you out."

"Yeah, did you like that? I thought it was pretty cool." He smiled, but inwardly he wondered if Steve had even been invited to the briefing about Extremis. Something told him that the answer was no.

The first sensation that something was wrong washed over him when a silence settled between them. Steve's eyes were locked with his for a few seconds before the blonde lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

"I made lunch."

Tony blinked. "Well did you hide it somewhere? I didn't see anything in the kitchen."

"Well, I mean, I was starting to make lunch when you got here. "

Tony shook his head. "I was thinking we should go out for lunch. There was a nice looking café down the street. I'll buy."

Expecting Steve to say no, Tony's eyes widened a little when the other man nodded. "Okay. I've never been there, but it looks good."

"Are you okay?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. None of this made sense. Steve was acting perfectly normal. He was agreeing to go out to lunch—something that Bruce had been hinting was something that would sent Captain America into a panic attack.

Steve's brow furrowed. "Of course I'm okay. Why? Is something wrong?"

"There's supposed to be something wrong," he said. "You're supposed to start getting uncomfortable and freaking out on me. "

"Why would I do that? We're just going to lunch, right?"

Tony narrowed his eyes, peering closer. Steve's pupils were pricked, a sign of stress, or maybe it was just because there was a lot of sunlight in the room. There was a little bit of pink ringing his eyes, but Tony couldn't tell if that was just normal or if he'd been crying earlier. Then he noticed that color was coming to Steve's cheeks.

"You're overheated. Have you been exercising? Running away from something?"

Steve jerked his head away. "Are we getting lunch or not?"

"I'll take that as a yes," Tony said, following Steve down the stairs to the foyer. Something was off, he just couldn't place what it was and that unnerved him.

* * *

When they arrived at the café, Tony ordered a black coffee and an orange scone. Steve got a BLT and a fruit smoothie.

"That is beyond lame, Steve," Tony said after his friend finished ordering.

"I like smoothies and I like BLTs."

"But you're Captain America. At least get a hot dog and a Coke. You've got a reputation to uphold."

Steve laughed, but it wasn't a polite one like Tony was expecting. It was just a genuine, friendly sound. "Yeah, well, I'm Steve Rogers right now, not Captain America and I like smoothies and BLTs."

They got their food after a few minutes of waiting and Tony picked out a table by the window. The food wasn't that great, but Steve seemed to like it so Tony didn't complain. Usually he would complain anyway just to try and ruin the mood, but he was still puzzled as to why this wasn't freaking Rogers out. Steve seemed to notice that Tony was staring and flashed a smile before pointing to his chest.

"So, how did you lose the reactor?"

God, that smile was just so goofy-looking that Tony had to smile back, though he tried to turn it into a smirk. Reach forward, he snagged the pickle off of Steve's plate and took a bite with a loud crunch. "Last bad boy I fought gave me some new powers. I haven't experimented with them too much, but one of the inherent abilities is healing. So I was finally able to get the shrapnel out of my ticker and ditch the reactor."

"Hm. Is it strange not to have it in your chest anymore?"

Tony glanced down, still half-expecting a blue glow from his shirt. "Yeah, it is, but I'm happy it's gone. I was in constant pain and didn't even know it until the reactor was out." He took another bite of the pickle and watched as Steve's eyes lingered on his sternum. "So, Capsicle, what's new with you? I heard you and Natasha Turnmeon went on a mission together."

Steve looked up and Tony swore he saw a bit of shock in those eyes before he spoke. "Yeah, we did."

"So…what? Did Clint beat you up when you came back?"

Steve looked down at his plate and offered a half smile. "No. He's overseas somewhere, I think. Regardless, nothing happened between Natasha and me, if that's what you're asking."

"Mm, I think something happened." Tony left it at that and looked out the window. The sun was bright outside even though it was still pretty cold out. New York was always cold in his opinion—that was why he liked Florida. People scuttled by with grim looks on their faces despite the sunlight, none of them even noticing that two of the Avengers were just a few inches away behind a pane of glass. It was funny how life worked that way.

"Natasha is with _him_ now," Steve said quietly.

Tony's eyes traveled over but his head was still facing the window. "With who?" But they both knew the answer. Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. He'd read his briefings.

Steve looked at his smoothie straw as if it was the Hope Diamond. "I'm pretty sure they make these things to rip you off."

"What, the straw?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's huge, so you're drinking more of it faster. Then once it's empty, you have to buy a new one. "

"You're stupid. They do that so that all of the chunks don't get stuck in your straw." He'd let the subject change this time, but only because they were in public and a crazy Cap could get people killed.

"That sounds like a bad excuse. "

"So does changing the subject," Tony said nonchalantly, talking a swig of his coffee. It tasted horrible thanks to the fact that he'd eaten Steve's pickle first, but he just made a face and stuck his tongue out a few times before drinking more. The café was average, the coffee was average—hell, even the pickle was average. Yet as he listened to Steve start to explain why he was convinced that the smoothies were a scam, Tony decided it was the perfect place for two above-average people to just sit back and talk before the torture began.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry about that, I accidentally posted the same chapter twice. ._

* * *

When they returned back to the house, Tony decided to busy himself with unpacking his stuff. JARVIS had successfully brought in all of his bags while they were away—Tony didn't think he would ever get over how great it was to finally have robo-servants that weren't Dummy. Steve lingered for a while and they talked about stupid things that didn't have any real meaning. That would usually make Tony annoyed, but he was used to small talking for hours on end at parties and conferences. That, and he was trying to figure out what was wrong. It wasn't making sense—Steve was being his normal, kind of awkward self. He was stumbling over his words, but not in a way that sounded like he was hiding something. If he wasn't already in a committed relationship, Tony would have called it cute.

But once Tony started setting up a makeshift workshop, Steve announced that he was going to go downstairs and sketch for a while. Tony could sort of understand artist people. After all, he spent a lot of time drawing out mechanical designs and blueprints. But as a rule, he never drew living things. It wasn't that he was bad at it, he just didn't like to. Drawing new suits and new technology was a thousand times more exciting than drawing a bullfight or something. That wasn't to say Tony didn't appreciate art—when his house was destroyed the art community took a huge hit. He liked buying art, sometimes just for the name but other times just because it looked good.

Come to think of it, he'd never seen any of Steve's art. Well, none of this real art. During briefings he occasionally snatched Steve's notes to take a look at something, only to find a picture of Nick Fury as a pirate staring back at him and a red-faced Steve Rogers scrambling to get his papers back.

"Sir, Ms. Potts is calling," JARVIS announced.

Tony fished out his headset and put it on so that he could continue setting up a router and talk at the same time. He tapped his temple and a picture of Pepper appeared on the screen by his right eye.

"Evening, Ms. Potts," he greeted with a smile.

"Were you planning on telling me that you moved out?" she asked, sounding as frazzled as ever.

"Bruce called you, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did, but I think I should at least get a 'I'm here and I'm safe' text from you."

Tony chuckled. "So now I'm expected to be accountable? Aren't you supposed to know me better than anyone else?"

Pepper laughed, but Tony could tell she wasn't smiling. Not all the way, at least. There was just something in the way she ended her chuckle, like something wasn't quite right.

"So how's the treatment going?" he asked, picking up a screwdriver and playing with it.

"It's okay," Pepper replied in a way that said it wasn't okay at all.

"Come on, Potts. You can't fool me. I'm pretty sure—"

"Painfully—that's how I would say treatment is going right about now." Her voice was taut with stress. Almost like she was in pain in that very moment.

Tony swallowed. "I'm trying to fix it. " A tiny smirk started on his lips. "I mean hey, it's better than blowing up, right?"

"Not funny."

"Right. Sorry." His smirk vanished and he started lightly pushing the screwdriver tip against his palm.

"I just can't believe you injected yourself with it," Pepper said suddenly—angrily. "You didn't even test it and _prick_! You injected yourself with a disease that killed countless people and nearly killed me!"

She'd talked about this before, when she had first moved into the rehab facility specially constructed by Stark Industries for Extremis patients. "Pepper—"

"Don't 'Pepper' me, Tony. I understand that I had to be the guinea pig for this—I was going to die otherwise. But you don't even know if this new strain is going to work. It could kill you or kill someone else," Pepper snapped, her voice rising the longer she spoke.

"I don't work that way, you know that," Tony replied quietly.

"And normally I would be fine with that, but not when it directly concerns people's safely. This isn't the suit. You can't control it."

"Yes, I can, Pepper. I can—"

"For once, I know enough about this to say that you can't. You don't know what it feels like to get angry enough to melt steel. You have no idea."

God, he wanted to fight back and say something nasty, but this was Pepper. She was beyond stressed—hell, she was in physical pain all day. And honestly, she was right, even though he would never admit that. "Well, I have Extremis. There's nothing you can do about it now. You'll be all fixed up in a week or two, then we can go wherever you want on a vacation, 'kay?"

Pepper sighed. "I have a business to run once I'm done with this. No vacations for me."

"Then we'll make it a staycation. Or something."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," Pepper said. "Goodnight, Tony."

"Right back atcha," he replied, then her picture fell away. That hadn't exactly gone as he intended it to. He knew Pepper was mad at him about the Extremis, but this time she seemed really mad. Furious, even. She never lashed out at him like that, not even when he destroyed a good section of New York. But she had every reason to be frustrated, so he decided not to read too far into it.

Tony worked on configuring everything in his makeshift lab for the next few hours, mindlessly screwing screws and tightening bolts. JARVIS could have done it for him, but he just needed to focus on something predictable. All the while, he was aware that once he finished building the lab, he would have nothing to do for the rest of the night. Sleep was out of the question. Even before New York, sleep had never been his favorite thing to do. It was a waste of time that could be spent doing something a lot more productive. His body was used to all-nighters and catnaps, not anything more than that.

So after adjusting his desk height for the fifteenth time, Tony decided that he was hungry. The house had gone dark and there was no light under the door to Steve's room, so he assumed that his friend had gone to sleep. It wouldn't surprise him if Steve was the type of person that made sure to always get exactly eight hours each night.

Moonlight cast a blueish-purple glow on the laminate tile of the kitchen and Tony made a note to hire someone to put some real tile in the house. No Avenger should have to live with laminate.

The fridge hummed in the corner of the kitchen and upon opening it, Tony's heart sank. There was nothing but leafy greens and bags of fruit. There wasn't even a bottle of beer to sip on—not that Tony liked beer. Great, so Steve was a health junkie. Healthy foods had its perks, Tony wasn't going to deny that, but when he was trying to distract himself he preferred a box of Twinkies over a head of lettuce. Besides, health food made him think about when he had to drink that disgusting veggie power juice with his old reactor.

He searched the cupboards to no avail, so he settled on the most unhealthy thing he could find: graham crackers. He poured himself a glass of milk and sat down at the table, staring out into the far edges of Central Park. Maybe that was why SHIELD paid so much for this house—as he looked outside, it was almost impossible to tell what year it was. Well, except for the skyscrapers, but they were far enough away that they blended into the horizon. Maybe they could pass off as stars with the way the office lights glowed.

Tony looked up when he heard a shuffling at the door—hurried footsteps and jerky movements to the doorknob that hardly sounded friendly. It made him smirk—this was probably the worst house to burglarize in the entire city. He popped the section of graham cracker into his mouth that he'd been holding then started walking toward the door.

His suit started falling into place around his body and within moments his vision was accompanied by JARVIS's sensors and readings.

"So now you're acting as a guard dog, sir?"

"Can it, J," Tony said, but there was a little smirk on his lips.

"I suggest you try not to break anything, seeing as this is not your home."

The fiddling at the doorknob stopped and Tony lifted a hand, ready to shoot the second someone walked in.

_Thump_.

Tony tensed; staring up at the ceiling in the direction the sound had come from. Shit. It was too loud to just be Steve's footsteps. Then he heard more thumping from upstairs and decided that the person at the door was the least of his problems. Steve could probably handle himself, sure, but there was still something wrong with him. Tony didn't think Bruce would lie about something like that. If the mention of New York had sent him into an anxiety attack, there was no telling what could trigger Steve.

Tony raced up the stairs and blasted the door open. With both blasters ready, he charged into the room, half expecting some sort of supervillian to be laughing at him and dangling Steve by the hair.

Instead, he found the Super Solider on the floor. He was gasping and the moonlight was reflecting off of his sweat-soaked face. Blonde hair was stuck to Steve's forehead and blue eyes were blown wide with terror as he fought to free himself from a tangle of sheets and blankets.

"Door! Someone at the door—" Steve sputtered, clawing his arm free from the fabric.

Tony stood there for a second, trying to figure out what was going on, then snapped back to reality and flipped up his faceplate. "Steve, it's Tony."

"I know who you are! Someone's at the door!" Steve managed to get free from the blankets and kicked them away, scrambling for the hallway.

Tony caught his arm, which turned out to be a horrible mistake. Steve took one look at his hand and stopped moving immediately.

"Spangles, it's me," Tony said quietly.

The other man wouldn't look at him, his gaze was transfixed on Tony's hand.

"Glad to see ya," Steve whispered. "That's what you said—glad to see ya."

Tony's brow furrowed. This was more of what he'd been expecting when he walked in. "Who said that? 'Cause it wasn't me, Cap."

Steve flinched, his mouth still open in some sort of shock. "I know. I know I s-shouldn't have. I shouldn't have."

He had no idea what Steve was talking about, but he figured it was the same thing that happened during one of his own panic attacks. "Steve, look at me. Breathe. Deep breaths."

But those blue eyes wouldn't budge from his arm and the man's breathing was rapid and short. Tony gave him a little shake, but then the door opened downstairs.

Before he knew what was happening, there was a fist connecting to his exposed nose. Tony stumbled backward, denting the drywall and sending a plume of dust from the ceiling to coat his armor. His senses were reeling and he could only hear muffled voices from the floor below, along with JARVIS's pestering in his ear.

But Extremis did its work and within moments he felt fine again and sluggishly stood up. "What the hell just happened?"

"I believe Mr. Rogers just punched you, sir," said JARVIS.

"Don't call him Mr. Rogers, that makes it sound like he's gonna come up the stairs in a red sweater with some puppets."

"Noted, sir."

Tony wiped the blood from his nose and hurried downstairs. The door was shut again and the only sound was that of crinkling paper coming from the dining room. He turned to see Steve sitting at the table unwrapping a little rectangular thing.

"Mind telling me what the hell just happened?" Tony asked. "Who the hell was at the door?"

"A friend of mine," Steve murmured before popping a now-unwrapped cube of something into his mouth.

Tony didn't have time for jokes. He didn't move out of his suit as he neared the table, a little worried that he was going to get punched again.

The tin on the table was white and green and it looked vintage. "Milky Ways?" he asked incredulously. Sure enough, it was a tin crammed full of what he guessed were 1940s-esque Milky Ways with little green and white paper wrappers. Strangest drug deal he'd ever seen, that was for sure.

Steve's hand slapped him away. "Don't touch these." A pause. "Please."

Tony touched the tin again anyway and snatched up one of the chocolates. JARVIS automatically scanned it and determined that though they appeared to be from the forties, the wrappers had been printed recently. Just underneath the logo was tiny print that read "Military Issue."

"So you're eating fake World War II chocolate. Is this what you eat to go to your happy place? Eat a few Milky Ways and pretend it's the forties again?"

Steve tried to take back the chocolate, but Tony closed a metal fist around it instead.

"Chocolates aren't going to do anything, Cap. You're still gonna have nightmares and you're still going to wake up in twenty thirteen." He dropped the slightly mashed chocolate back into the tin and finally let his armor fall away, though it reassembled just beside the doorway, just in case.

"I don't have nightmares," Steve said, but Tony could see his fingers trembling. "I knew you guys would think that, so that's why I have them delivered so late. I get the chocolate because I like it."

"Oh, I'm sure. I bet it's great." Tony returned to his graham crackers and milk at the end of the table and sat down. "But I don't think a midnight chocolate craving was what made you act like that upstairs."

Steve's jaw clenched. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on now, don't get all dramatic on me. I wanna know why you punched me in the face."

"Sorry."

"No you aren't. I can tell."

Steve blinked hard, then rubbed his eyes. "I though you were someone—"

"You thought I was Bucky."

Tony was prepared this time. Steve shot up from his chair and lunged across the table. And even though he was prepared for it, it was still somewhat terrifying to see Captain America with bloodlust in his eyes. Tony's now-armored hand grabbed Steve by the throat and held him at arm's length.

"You thought I was Bucky. Then you realized it was me and punched me to try and make me forget what you look like when you're nuts."

Steve struggled against his grip, knocking the tin of Milky Ways to the floor with a loud clang. Tony flinched, but didn't remove his hand.

"Look at me," he demanded, but Steve's pupils didn't move. So he gave him a little shake. "I said look at me."

Reluctantly, their eyes met. Tony's grip loosened and Steve relaxed his angry demeanor, but was still tense. Tony scooted around the corner of the table so that he was sitting beside his friend.

"Take a deep breath. It helps, I promise."

Steve stared at him for a moment, then parted his lips for a breath. He didn't relax much, but Tony didn't care.

"I don't know what you think is going to happen, but Bucky isn't—" He put up his hand again, clutching Steve's throat when he charged a second time. This time pale hands grabbed his shirt collar and yanked hard, burning the back of Tony's neck as well as throwing him forward to knock heads with Steve. His grunt washed hot over Steve's neck and Tony's mind couldn't help but wander to dirtier places even as he ground his metal fingertips hard into the flesh of the other man's throat.A tingle ran up in his spine that he ignored and he also ignored the way his skin turned to gooseflesh.

"You're safe, okay? You don't need to attack anyone," he said quietly, his gaze soft but intense as he pulled back. A very rare moment from Tony Stark. If he had to pin it on something, he would say that the fear in Steve's eyes was like looking at a frightened horse—and no one watched a horse freak out without trying to soothe it. "You're fine. No bad guys here, 'kay? Relax, Spangles. Just calm down."

Steve didn't say anything, but the tension leaked out of his features and he gradually let go of Tony's collar, though Tony couldn't help but notice that Steve's hands dragged down his chest a bit before leaving. God dammit. Steve Rogers was not available. Actually, _he_ wasn't available either.

"There we go." He finally let his hand drop from Steve's throat and sent the armor off of his arm to help the rest of the suit pick up the scattered chocolates. Moment over. The trademark Stark smirk returned as Tony leaned back in the chair. "By the way, I'm setting up a date for you tomorrow night. So hopefully there's no panic attack during that. If there is, I'll be a few tables over or something." He chuckled, "Just don't make the poor lady jealous by staring at me."

The loud crash of Steve's chair hitting the floor made Tony jump up in his seat, but Steve was already past him and heading up the stairs.

"Steve?"

The footsteps stopped abruptly. "Another wisecrack like that and I'll beat you to a pulp before your scrap pile can protect you." Steve's voice was twisted in a way that made Tony's skin crawl. The door slammed shut upstairs, leaving him alone in the cool moonlight.

"He didn't mean that," Tony whispered, but he didn't know if he was talking to the suit or himself.


End file.
